


A Better Soundtrack

by Culumacilinte



Series: Tumblr Ficlets [4]
Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Angry Sex, Arguing, Band Fic, F/F, Femslash, Lack of Communication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 19:42:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14339598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Culumacilinte/pseuds/Culumacilinte
Summary: Neon and Ultra aren't always on the same page; sometimes things need to get thrown





	A Better Soundtrack

‘Just  _once_ , just for fucking once, would you shut up with your bloody keytar while I’m talking!’

Ultra wants to throw something, so she does; the nearest thing to hand is an open plastic bag of foam earplugs, and she nails Neon in the face with it, sending them raining down around her in a spray of bright orange bullets. Neon orange. Fucking appropriate. She laughs ironically, viciously, at the look on Neon’s face, furious and disbelieving.

'Bitch! What the  _fuck_ do you–’

'No! No, you don’t get to call me a fucking bitch when you’ve been playing over me every time I’ve tried to talk for the past–’

'I wouldn’t play over you if you had something  _decent_  to say–!’

'Get fucked! This isn’t  _your_ band, and it’s not about how fucking fast you can solo, you don’t need me on drum machine to back your  _precious ego,_ I’ve got ideas too, it can’t all be  _your songs_ –’

'Then bring 'em!’ Neon’s up in her face now, keytar smashed between them, a discordant, synthy sostenuto yowl, and Ultra presses in further, belligerent, so the edge of it digs into her stomach, changes the chord with her sharp hipbone, bares her teeth. 'If you’ve got ideas’, Neon’s still saying, 'bring 'em! This is  _our_ band–’

She’s throwing Ultra’s words back into her face, mocking her with them, and fuck that,  _fuck_ that, 'No you  _fucking_ don’t, you smug cunt, you’ve got your head so far up your arse, just cos I didn’t fucking  _go to art school_ like some people, doesn’t make me your pretty little backup–’

'So fucking show me!’ Neon crowds closer, and one of the rhythm loop buttons gets pressed, a driving synthetic drumbeat; she’s always fucking making noise, even now, even when she’s not trying to; Ultra’s ears are full of it, and her mouth is full of the scent of sweat and hairspray. 'Show me what you can do, huh? Prove me wrong. You’re pathetic!’

Her face is flushed in the dim, her teeth bared too, eyes glittering, and Ultra’s whole body flushes with the urge to  movement, her skin tight all over. She slams her hips into the keyboard, an obscene thrust that produces a  _smash_ of sound, jangling and atonal, wobbling with the movement sensors as Neon  _cackles_ , stumbling back into the wall, and Ultra follows her, pushing to keep her there.

Neon’s laughing still, Ultra can’t stand it, she’s so fucking  _furious_  she can’t see straight, and Neon hits back when Ultra slaps her in the face. They’re both breathing hard, and Neon’s nipples are hard through her little white t-shirt, it’s too easy for Ultra to grab one and  _twist_ , make her cry out. 'Bitch!’ she shrieks, but she’s tearing off her shirt, and then Ultra’s hands are full of Neon’s little tits, twisting, bruising, the stupid keytar still mashed between them, drum loop playing relentlessly, syncopating with her hammering heartbeat, and Ultra is so wet suddenly she can’t think straight either. She’d fall over if she didn’t have Neon’s weight up against the wall to grab onto.

She brings her knee up, wedges it up under the keytar to  _rub_  against Neon’s cunt, firm as she can, breathing hard, rubbing and pressing her up against the wall, dizzy and breathless. 'I need your  _help_ ’– she can only admit it then, with Neon pinned and writhing, 'I don’t have the language, I need your fucking  _help_ , not your judgement, god–’

’ _There_  we go’, Neon sighs, arching her shoulders back against the wall and spreading her legs, grinning a shit-eating grin up at Ultra. 'Fucking finally, you’re so fucking stubborn.’

There’s a beat that feels silent even though it absolutely isn’t, and then Ultra flushes hot, mortified at how well Neon apparently understands her. 'Fuck you!’ she spits, shoving her harder into the wall, pinching her nipple with nails, and Neon scowls just a little.

'Oi, watch it, that hurts!’ She shoves her back, and then gets a grip on Ultra’s hair, tugging her in hard. The tingling shock radiating out from her follicles feels so good it annoys her, and she wriggles like a fish on a line, embarrassing and undignified. Neon’s mouth is up against her ear, hot breath and waxy with the lipstick that’s been smeared on her front teeth for the past half hour. 'Shove your bitching and come here and fuck me. I want those long fingers of yours inside me.’

Ultra swallows; she can  _feel_ her pupils dilate it happens so suddenly, a strange, dizzy feeling. 'You don’t get to just placate me with sex, you know’, she warns, hating how unsteadily her voice comes out, and then she shakes her head, scowling. 'Put on a better fucking soundtrack first and put that thing down.’

Neon grins, and crawls over to the decks to find a good beat to fuck to. 'Nah, I know. You’ll fuck me 'til I scream, and then I’ll eat you out 'til you’ve come all over my face, and  _then_ we’ll talk when we’re both too shagged out to yell at each other. Sound good?’

It does, irritatingly, but the beat is choice, deep and dirty, and Ultra channels all her annoyance into making Neon scream.

 


End file.
